


dusk till dawn

by sevenzeroseven



Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, FASHION FICTION ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ), M/M, Reincarnation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenzeroseven/pseuds/sevenzeroseven
Summary: shang bu huan is a taiwanese businessman, lang wu yao is a rising musician, and lin xue ya is an international model.





	1. Chapter 1

“Shang, you should get an assistant." Lang says it passingly, quietly. It's a flat statement to the casual observer but something weightier between the two of them. Shang sighs, knows the suggestion is for his own good, and brushes it off all the same.

"Too much trouble."

He waves the idea away and sets his phone down, intent on ignoring it for the rest of the evening. The agenda, however, remains open in his hand, and he distractedly uses the pen he's been taking notes with to tap his temple. "Sorry," he says with some chagrin, frowning down at his chicken scratch blurring across the page. "Didn't mean to be on the phone all night..."

"It's fine." The knuckles of Lang's left hand dust his cheek; the fingers of his right swirl the straw in his iced tea. His gaze that'd left the table mid-call to watch the Tokyo skyline and its tower are now resolutely fixed back on Shang. He takes a sip of his drink, ice melted, and nods down.

"You should eat."

There's disappointment in there somewhere. Shang can sense it even if the other doesn't say it. After all, anyone would be. Lang got them dinner at a Tokyo hot spot—without prior reservation—and Shang has spent three-quarters of it on the phone. Much of his sushi remains untouched, his beer collecting condensation. He's almost surprised Lang hasn't chewed him out yet, but the other's always been aloof and soft-spoken. Shang's known him long enough and well enough to discern the telltale signs of upset without being told.

He finally snaps his booklet shut and shoves it aside. "Had to reschedule a meeting with Dong Li Entertainment... Looks like I'll be heading back to Taipei earlier than expected. Oh, right, Ling Ya says he'll be flying over in the morning. Also, says congrats on the successful show."

Shang grins through his exhaustion and reaches over to clink his Sapporo against Lang's glass. Lang  _hmm_ 's, seemingly unaffected, but shares in the celebratory drink anyway.

After Shang sets his bottle back down, he says, "The attention isn't so enviable." 

His calm, blue-green eyes have found some indeterminate spot behind Shang's shoulder. Shang turns following his gaze and immediately lights on a group of young women sneaking furtive glances at their table. A bark of laughter erupts from his mouth, and he pivots back around with a grin. "Oi, oi, forget attention; you're damn famous." 

A small, rare smile finds the other's features. "And between that and your work, we haven't seen each other in two months."

Shang does a double take while picking up his chopsticks, eyebrows jumping in disbelief. "Two months, eh?" He thinks back while putting the first slice of fish in his mouth and realizes that Lang's right. He remembers popping in on the other at the studio, but besides that it's been endless paperwork and meetings. He laughs haltingly, free hand going to scratch at his nose. "Ah, right, well that's—"

Lang raises a hand, and his expression softens ever so slightly. He leans forward in his seat and tugs at the collar of his sweater. "Like I said, it's fine. I only mention it because I'm worried for your health. Xiao Kuangjuan has been working you hard."

Shang scoffs and takes another swig of beer before shoving more sushi into his mouth. It's good, but he thinks the quality is a little lost on him. He's always liked simple foods best. "That bastard's always had his eye on my job. Honestly, I'm more concerned about Xie Ying Luo and her underhanded methods, but—" He laughs. "I can handle them. Hey, don't worry too much about me. Just focus on keeping your rabid fangirls at bay." Shang nods behind him, and the gesture draws a quiet chuckle out of the musician. 

"Shall we go?" he asks, seeing that Shang's cleared both plate and drink. "You have an early morning, right?"

"Right, yeah." Shang gets up and grabs the scarf and jacket he's draped over the back of his seat, eyes catching on the bill that Lang's already paid in the process.

Before Lang throws his guitar case over his shoulder, Shang reaches out and gives his arm a nudge. "Lang."

"Hm?" 

"Thanks for the meal. I appreciate it. Guess I needed a break after all."

Lang smiles again, this one wider than his muted previous. "Sure. Let me know when you're leaving. I'll drive you to the airport." 

"Nah, you don't have to do that."

Shang follows after him and dimly registers the voice of their waiter greeting them goodbye before opening his agenda again. He's in the middle of making a note about tomorrow's meeting when a familiar voice calls out to him.

A chill immediately runs down his spin; a feeling of déjà vu follows closely on its heels. 

"Not even a hello, Shang Bu Huan?"

Just the thought of who it could be makes Shang want to dart out of the restaurant and pretend he hadn't heard. His body, on the other hand, locks up. He doesn't realize he's broken into a cold sweat until Lang pivots around with a questioning look on his face and asks, "Shang?" 

Shang sighs, the sound weary and defeated, as he glances over his shoulder at Lin Xue Ya. The Enigmatic Gale sits with pipe poised between the fingers of his left hand and an expectant smile on his face. As though he predicted this, and he probably had for all Shang knows. His eyes flicker back to his and Lang's table, noting that Lin has a perfect vantage point from here.

"Shang?" Lang has sidled back up to him with a raised eyebrow, peering around his body to get a look at the stranger. His expression doesn't change, not even a blip of recognition. "Friend of yours?" he asks, and all Shang can do is say yes. 

"Y-Yeah," he starts and shoots Lin a thinly veiled glare. "Go on ahead without me. Sorry."

Lang doesn't look convinced, so Shang puts on an apologetic smile and says, "Business-related. I'll call you in the morning." 

"Oh." Lang passes Lin Xue Ya a second tepid glance before conceding. He nods once to the both of them. "Then, good night."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." 

The parting is oddly stilted, which he attributes to the person sitting behind him. Shang watches Lang go. He waits until he's out of earshot and the restaurant before whirling on the other. 

“When did you remember?” is the first thing out of Lin's mouth. The question is unexpected enough to throw him off completely. Shang refrains from sighing again and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation instead. He doesn't answer, isn't obligated to, and frankly doesn't want to. But he pulls out the chair opposite Lin's two-person table and drops down in it anyway. 

When he takes his hand away from his face, Lin is staring at him with those same shrewd eyes he remembers from a lifetime ago. It's nothing short of disturbing. He brushes aside the voice in the back of his head saying he's been expecting this. “A bit after we ran into each other, I guess," he starts reluctantly then clears his throat and straightens in his seat. He leans farther across the table, setting his elbows against the edge. 

"You just don't give up, do you?" he growls. It's a half-hearted growl at best, which Shang blames on the alcohol and the hour.

Lin hums and inverts the bowl of his pipe into an ashtray on his left. He takes his time refilling it. Shang takes that same time to notice Lin Xue Ya hasn't changed in the slightest. Out of all the affluent patrons, Lin stands out most with his pale hair and red eyes, the fur trim on his white overcoat and that goddamn pipe. Shang wonders how he didn’t notice him earlier. 

His patience is just about to run out when Lin shifts in his seat and says, "That was Lang Wu Yao, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Shang returns dryly, suspicion leaking into his tone by force of habit. "Lang doesn’t remember anything though.”

They lapse into silence. Shang notes Lin hasn't ordered anything, only a glass of wine. 

"So, what is it you want?" Shang cocks his head to the side and has half a mind to leave. He answered Lin's question in the affirmative, but the truth is that he doesn't remember everything. Hell, he thought he'd gone crazy at first. Accepting something like a "past life" is a hard pill for anyone to swallow. He pushed it to the back of his mind without meaning to and hasn't thought about it in months. Whatever his past life had been, it doesn't have any bearing on the present. Or at least, that's what he tells himself. 

Confronted with the Enigmatic Gale's truth, he thinks he needs more time to process... everything. They may have known each other in the past, but in the present, they're all but strangers.

"I love you."

Shang blinks.

 

 

 

"You, you— _what_?"

Lin's expression barely changes. He continues in the same matter-of-fact tone after taking a draught of his pipe. "You see, it took me an entire lifetime and then some to realize it, but I love you.”

Now that Lin's repeated it, Shang knows he hasn't heard wrong. But the wrongness sits like a rock in his stomach anyway. His brain kicks into overdrive trying to place words, scenes, an entire other life he's lived that's more dream than reality—looking for some explanation or sleight of hand. But there's nothing.

Lin interrupts him in a quiet voice, and he glances up from his consternation. Shang realizes that Lin isn't so much looking at him as he is looking _through_ him. “You may not remember it, but you ultimately perished because of me. One of my games had gone... a bit too far.”

Lin pauses. His eyes refocus, and a smile crosses his expression again. This one—wistful? 

“It was very lonely without you, Bu Huan." Another pause. "Cripplingly so.”

He brings the lip of his pipe to his mouth, and Shang's eyes go elsewhere. Shang flags down a passing waitress.

“Hey, can I get some water?”

"Of course." She turns. "A refill for you?"

"Another glass."

When she leaves, Shang is tapping his right temple. "Look," he finally starts. “You know I have nothing for you to steal this time either, right?”

“Ah, that’s where you're wrong, Sir Shang."

Shang pulls a face between disbelief and confusion. Lin doesn't elaborate; Shang thinks he knows what he means, but still. The confession sits between them, light and airy, as if it'll soon disappear. Shang thinks that his relationship with this man has always been this way, just a feeling. "Xue Ya... you serious?"

"Of course. Why else would I be here?" Lin's faint grin falls. For once, he looks upset. _Genuinely_ upset. 

"O-Oi. Lin—" Shang shifts in his seat, suddenly alarmed and uncomfortable. Lin's free hand brings a napkin to dab at his red eyes, now redder with—tears?

"I came with a heartfelt confession... only to see you with the same man you refused to let go of last time. Can you imagine how I feel?"

Shang's expression goes flat. "I take my sympathy back."

He gets up without another word, not another glare spared in Lin's direction, and turns to go. His exit is accompanied by light laughter he's heard a million times over and that's no less vexing now than before.

"Hahaha, Shang Bu Huan, don't be such a stranger. We're cosmically bound, you know?"

Some things never change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> out of the frying pan into the fire

Shang yawned loudly and scratched his nose absentmindedly. The day was warmer than usual, and the suit he'd thrown on was absolutely stifling. He hadn't worn it in years; the age probably showed. He didn't care much, had never been up-to-date with fashion, but his boss had given him a bit of a sour look as soon as he stepped past the sliding doors. _'What?'_ had been his response in a shrug and a glance, and the older man had only shaken his head and turned to lead the way.

The main office had gone through some changes since he'd last been here. Shiny tiles, floor-to-ceiling windows, and new elevators lent the old company a modern look. Business was going well, so he should have expected it, but he hadn't anticipated it to happen so quickly. His transfer had been, what, less than a year ago? Year and a half? And he was glad of it regardless of the quality of life differences. The New Taipei branch suited him a lot better. For one, it didn't have Xiao Kuangjuan on a daily basis.

They made small talk in the elevator, Shang elaborating on the sightseeing details of his Japan trip. He couldn't do much, if any, given it was mostly business, but the elder seemed bright-eyed for scenery recommendations, so Shang embellished a little with details he'd heard from Ling Ya. The most outstanding thing about his week had probably been Lang's concert and—Shang stuttered in his recounting, and the other turned to him. 

"Hm? Sorry? What sushi bar?"

Shang laughed. "Ah, yeah, I'll double-check the name for you later. It was packed, though; you're gonna need a reservation."

The conversation moved on, and Shang sighed inwardly. He'd been expecting some appearance by Lin ever since, but the days had been suspiciously calm. _Too_ calm. It was a familiar feeling spanning lifetimes, but he'd been doing what he could to ignore it. Hope for the best, let sleeping dogs lie, etcetera.

His phone buzzed as they were making their way through the floor, Shang waving cursorily at old co-workers, and he checked it briefly just before his boss shut the door to his office. 

> **Lang Wu Yao**  
>  Dinner?

Shang made a mental note to reply after the meeting before slipping the device back in his pocket. 

"Shang, take a seat." 

Shang did as he was told and immediately picked up the stack of papers before him. He could tell it was some new project from the cover, but he didn't start flipping through until his boss gave the go-ahead.

A new TV drama, historical setting, _big_ budget, and optimistic projected ratings. Huh. 

Shang scratched his temple as the explanation continued, and he only grew more and more confused. Sure, it was all work-related, but he couldn't parse the exact relation to _himself_. The only reason he'd stayed at this company so long despite Xiao and Xie's ambitions was his boss's temperament. They were both simple people who spoke plainly. At the moment, though, most of his words were going in one ear and out the other, and it probably showed on his completely disinterested expression.

Tuning the man out for a moment as he reached the cast list, Shang quickly skimmed the names under consideration and did a double take. Lang's name jumped out at him. Shang quirked an eyebrow and folded the page over as he read the list again. All of the other roles were, as of printing, still up in the air, but 'Lang Wu Yao' had definitively been selected for the third lead. He flipped through a few more pages to Lang's contract in the back and caught Ling Ya's signature at the bottom. _Right_ , that made sense. Shang refrained from snorting, eyebrows knitting together instead. Was that guy going to be okay with this? Did he even know about it yet?

Shang was so absorbed in this sudden revelation that he missed half of what his superior was saying until the other cleared his throat and asked, "Shang, are you listening?" 

Shang startled out of his one-track mind and glanced up. "Huh? Yeah, sure, I'm just ah—" He interrupted himself with a laugh and tugged at the tie chafing around his neck. "Don't really get what I'm doing here—or why you're telling me all of this." He shut the packet and waved it in front of his face. "Not my department anymore. Wish you the best and all, but was there a specific reason I got called out here?" 

The tone came out a little ruder than he'd intended, but he'd never particularly needed to watch his tongue around the other. That hadn't changed, it seemed, as the man mirrored his laugh and reclined in his leather seat. He folded his thin fingers across his chest and considered Shang for a moment with narrowed gaze before his expression split into another faint (almost chagrined?) smile. "Straight to the point, I see. As expected. Well, I suppose I'll just come out and say it then. We're going to need you back at the main office for a while." 

He paused, and a deeply unsettling feeling passed over Shang. He shifted in his chair. "Something happen?" he asked.

"Yes. Something good, mind you, but the client had a few... stipulations." 

His boss stood and circled his chair before stopping directly behind it and resting his forearms atop it. "A big name has agreed to star in the production." 

"Oh?" Shang flipped back to the casting list, but the other only made a disavowing gesture. 

"Don't bother. It hasn't been updated. We were only contacted a day ago. Both the director and producer are ecstatic to have him on. Not only that, but he's dropped his agency and is coming over to Xi You." 

Shang's eyebrows shot up again. "Hey, that's great news. Didn't think Xi You would be contracting so many big names in the new year. What were the stipulations?"

He sighed, and the same unsettling feeling returned. 

"You see, he's not without his... scandals. I know you don't keep up with the industry much outside the company's projects, but he's been through a few high-profile relationships in the last few years and a few run-ins with the government. However, his popularity's only continued to grow both inside and outside the country and especially among the younger generation. He'll be a face-lift for the company's PR, and we have high hopes for this production." 

Another pause. Shang had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he couldn't quite bring himself to confirm it, so he waited.

"He specifically requested to have you smooth over this transitional period."

Shang stood. "Look, I really—"

A knock at the door startled him, and he glanced over as a young female face appeared behind it. He recognized her as the secretary he'd passed on the floor.

"Excuse me for the interruption." She bowed her head apologetically at Shang before regarding the other. "Sir, your next meeting is here."

"Ah, perfect timing!" His boss's expression lit up hopefully, and he gestured rapidly for the secretary to bring the guest in. "Come in, come in! We were just discussing the production."

"Haha, it seems I was right to be early then."

There was no mistaking that silvery voice. Shang had heard it just a couple of weeks ago, after all. Somehow, he wasn't as surprised as he'd thought he'd be, but his stomach flipped over regardless. His hands curled into fists at the edge of the desk before he relaxed them, took a steadying breath, and finally turned. 

"Lin Xue Ya, this is Shang Bu Huan. He will be overseeing this production and your transition to Xi You."

Lin smiled at him as he reached out the hand that wasn't preoccupied with a pipe to shake. "I look forward to working with you, Sir Shang."

Oh, crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> both lang and lin act; lang's breaking into it, but lin's pretty regular at this point... also i switched from present tense to past tense bc i realized while writing that i keep accidentally switching, so lol. i wrote this even tho i didnt have the time hahahaha my brain's screaming but welp ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ im desperate for tbf fic send help


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakfast ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

Shang sighed as he took a seat at the two-person table. The breakfast place he’d suggested was still packed but not as crowded as it could have been had they arrived a little earlier or later. The meeting had finished during that awkward period between breakfast and lunch, and his boss had insisted that he and Lin "grab a bite together" to get better acquainted and discuss any concerns. In reality, he was probably just worried Shang would quit and figured Lin’s silver tongue could convince him otherwise.

Frankly, he _did_ want to quit; he wasn’t attached to the job, and nothing was worth the shitstorm he foresaw Lin heralding. His boss thought the other would better their reputation—ha! Really, there probably wouldn’t _be_ a reputation—or a company—once Lin was done. It was better to cut his losses now then, wasn’t it? But part of him couldn’t bring himself to leave the poor bastards to their fate, which was how he ended up here, he supposed.

He sighed again, massaging the frown lines on his forehead as he leaned over and propped both elbows on the table. The premonition of disaster was telling every fiber of his being to _run_ , but a faint tug at his heartstrings (that he chalked up to nostalgia) had him rooted to the spot. He’d already decided he’d leave the hazy past in the past, but the _feelings_  that accompanied it weren't so easy to dismiss. When he looked at Lin, he simply couldn’t reconcile the two. Paralyzed with indecision, he’d end up doing nothing, which wasn’t acceptance but worth about as much. Lin would then drag him through whatever he had planned, and he'd suffer for it. Not this time, though. He’d wring Lin for answers one way or another.

When he glanced up at the thought, he saw Lin midway through the line chatting up three girls who’d recognized him. They were very... _forward_ to say the least. All three had their phones out, pressing close and angling for pictures, and some of the other patrons had started recording videos too. Shang pulled a face that Lin may or may not have noticed because the other suddenly tilted his head back and winked. Shang quickly dragged his eyes away and snorted. At this rate, he wouldn't eat til past noon. 

Shang refrained from sighing for the nth time and pulled his phone out instead. As he right hand scrolled through business emails, his left worked the tie around his neck. Once it was off, he stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket, threw the whole thing over the back of his seat, and grabbed his pen and agenda in the same breath. Pushing all other extraneous thoughts aside, he silently scratched out the implications of accepting the position.

Besides Xiao constantly looking for opportunities to knock him down a peg, he still had a few projects he was overseeing and some collaborations that hadn't yet been finalized. At best, he'd have a couple of months to wrap things up in New Taipei. At worst, a couple of weeks. The very real possibility of having a couple of weeks was already giving him a headache _on top of_  appointing someone to take over the workload for, well, however long this would take.

What a pain in the ass.

And then spending upwards of a year, give or take depending on production schedule, babysitting Lin...

It really was...  
Probably...  
Better just to quit...

"Open wide."

"Huh?"

He almost did as he was told, distracted as he was, until his head registered the voice and his eyes belatedly refocused on the proffered cruller being shoved at his mouth.

He immediately yanked the _shao bing you tiao_ out of Lin's hands before the other could force-feed it to him.

"Cut the bullshit," he snapped, none too kindly, but Lin seemed unfazed. Less than unfazed, he laughed, and suddenly Shang was hyperaware that they were being watched. The pitfalls of hanging around the famous or nearly so. And he'd _just_ started getting used to Lang's fans.

Shang tore into the fried dough and flatbread with a bit more force than necessary and swallowed the first bite without chewing. He was too old and it was too early for this shit.

"We’re in public," he groused as more of an addendum than the exception but of course Lin would take it for the latter.

"And if we weren’t?" Lin smiled knowingly, either anticipating Shang's snark or getting his rocks off to the idea of it.

Shang bristled but tried to relax back in his seat. "You know what I meant."

Lin only hummed in response and sat down. Shang took the lull in conversation to give Lin a good look. He felt as though he'd spent all morning in a state of dissociation. Now that he'd finally wrapped his head around the situation, he saw that Lin was actually looking somewhat human for once. Not so gaudily dressed. The white coat sitting on his shoulders wasn't fur-trimmed; he still had that belted choker, but the shirt was a simple dark blue rather than gold-flowered red. 

When Lin caught him staring, another smile found his lips. “We’re in public,” he parroted, much to Shang’s dismay, as the addressed immediately shifted his gaze elsewhere and took another constipated bite.

Lin pushed forward the tray he’d brought back, bowl of steaming soy milk between them, as he plucked his own cold version off the surface and broke the plastic cover with a straw. 

Shang pulled another face when he saw him take a sip. “Is that all you’re eating?” he asked, punctuating the question like an accusation.

Lin dragged his sip out, maintaining eye contact, for a good few seconds before pulling his lips away and answering, “I have a shoot in the afternoon. The camera, as they say, adds ten pounds. Fried cruller adds another ten. You enjoy, though.”

Something about the way he said that... Shang snorted and pulled the bowl of soy milk to him, but he didn’t drink. Rather, he fixed Lin with a hard stare. “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

Lin brandished his pipe from seemingly nowhere in the blink of an eye. But he simply held it in his left hand rather than lighting it and leaned forward slightly in their cramped space. “I believe we’ve spent the better part of the morning discussing just that?”

“I told you to cut the bullshit.” Shang’s lips pursed together momentarily in displeasure, between bites, before he continued, “You really expect me to believe you’re just here on a whim or something?”

”Hmm,” Lin murmured, tilting his head askance in mock thought. “I’d expect you to know best that I only ever do things on personal whims.”

”Shut up.” Shang gestured toward the thief with his half-eaten flatbread-cruller. “I already told you that I don’t have anything for you to steal. And you’ve already had a good laugh at my expense. If you’re looking for another puppet to dance on your strings, you can move right along. I don’t envy the job anymore than I did before.”

He didn’t sugarcoat the words; he didn’t need to. Hell, he was giving Lin far more consideration than he deserved just by humoring him. But rather than the supercilious expression he expected, Lin was suddenly looking rather pensive.

Lin reached across and pushed the bowl toward him even further until it was practically at the edge. 

“Oi—“

”And I told you that you’re wrong.”

Lin sat back with that, right hand going to tousle a long strand of hair that’d fallen over his shoulder. “Of course, whether you believe me is your choice.”

He smiled once more, and Shang shook his head, understanding the situation no better than he did in Japan. He really didn’t get what Lin was playing at. The confession from before repeated uncomfortably in his head despite knowing it was no more than a bad and tasteless joke. Rather than say as much, he grabbed the spoon in his bowl, set it aside, and downed the lukewarm soy milk in a few gulps. He could feel Lin’s eyes on him the entire time.

Once he was done, he grabbed a napkin to press against his mouth and muttered, “About last time—“

Lin broke another sip of his drink to interrupt, “Don’t tell me you’re still doubting our shared past and misadventures?”

Shang scoffed. “No. If I was, I’d have to accept we’ve both gone crazy. Or else you’re feeding me lies while somehow knowing what I’m thinking. That’s something I’d have to put past even your capabilities.”

Lin chuckled, probably taking the remark for a backhanded compliment. Shang refrained from correcting him and cleared his throat. “Look. The way I see it? There’s not much you can do to me this lifetime. The worst is dying, and I’ve already done that. Getting me fired? Company tanked?” Shang shrugged. “Nothing world-shattering. I really don’t care. You’re just a regular human this time, Lin, surrounded by regular humans in a normal, boring world.”

Lin had lit his pipe while Shang wasn’t looking, and Shang had in turn finished his food. It sat heavily in his stomach, heavier than usual, or that might have been Lin’s unwavering and penetrating gaze. His red eyes had always been unnerving to an extent, but Shang had never backed down, and he didn’t intend to this time either. They crinkled around the edges after a prolonged silence and staredown with Lin taking a draught of his pipe. 

“I’ve always been just a regular human, Bu Huan. One who just happened to have many tools at his disposal.”

Familiar words, again. Shang’s expression turned into a grimace, and Lin laughed, shifting in his seat.

”Oh-ho, I _have_ missed you,” he admitted freely, and this was _not_ candor Shang was accustomed to hearing, much less from Lin Xue Ya. Or, at least, not the Lin Xue Ya he remembered.

Like last time, he found himself speechless until his phone buzzed and provided a much needed distraction. Before he could reach for it, though, Lin already had it in his hands. 

”No lock? So trusting, Sir Shang.”

”Hey!”

Shang made a swipe at the device, but Lin was quicker, fingers faster. He was typing something.

”Oi, Lin!”

Shang lunged; Lin only twisted and avoided him for a second longer before he was tossing the phone back to him. Shang scrambled to right and catch it. 

“You—!“

It was open to his conversation with Lang, which he was afraid of. Lang was asking about dinner again, and Lin had typed out a message for him. Wiping his free hand down his face, Shang held his chin for a moment as he stared at the screen. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he finally asked, not hiding the irritated edge to his tone or the way his eyes flashed dangerously when he looked up again. "I don't even know if I'm gonna be free at 7, and even if I was, what the hell is this restaurant? You're not invited!"

Lin tutted, having pulled out his own bedazzled phone while sipping on his cold soy milk. "Some friends of mine opened a popular restaurant recently, and this would be a good opportunity to visit." He smirked faintly, quirking an eyebrow. "What? It's not as though it's a date, is it?"

Shang knew Lin was dangling out bait; he _knew_ it, and he fell for it anyway. Suppressing an exasperated sigh, he snapped sarcastically, "Yeah, it's a goddamn date, and _you're_ not invited."

Lin waved away the assertion as he stood. "Then I don't mind playing third wheel," he said simply, and before Shang could rise to argue with him, he added, "Besides, if he and I are co-starring, we'll have to get along at some point. I can't see a better opportunity than dinner."

He was already walking away from their table by the time Shang tidied his things and, seeing as how the conversation wasn't goddamn finished, hurried to catch up with him. He absentmindedly pulled ahead to grab the door for himself, but Lin slipped through ahead of him without so much as a thanks. Go figure.

"Keep him out of it," he growled once they were on the streets again.

"Hm? Out of what?"

"Don't play dumb. It ain't cute." Shang grabbed Lin's shoulder, forcing him to look at him. "Whatever the _hell_ it is you're doing. Like I said, he doesn't remember."

He stepped back again when Lin fixed him with an appraising gaze. "Hmm," he murmured as if considering the proposition. Shang didn't miss that smugness, but he wasn't as annoyed by it as he thought he'd be. He'd already seen that expression too many times in his dreams. "Is he still that laconic, angry fellow who's hard to deal with?" 

Shang ignored the question. "He's doing well for himself right now, and I'll be damned if I let you screw that up."

Lin grinned, clearly amused as he took a few more steps than comfortable into Shang's personal space. Before he could step back or say anything, there was a hand along his neck.

Shang stared dumbly as Lin reached up to fix the collar of his shirt and give his chest a pat. "Then,” Lin started, bringing their faces _too_ close together as his voice dropped in volume. “Keep a good eye on me, Bu Huan." 

The sun peeked out from the skyscraper it'd been hiding behind just then, bathing the entire street in bright light and making the glint in Lin's eyes seem that much more mischievous. He pulled away and pulled out a pair of flashy sunglasses at the same time that an expensive car rolled up to the curb.

"See you at dinner," he parted, sliding into the backseat as he left a confused Shang to hold his head in frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) i was gonna write in the dinner too but this got long and i got lazy ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) maybe next time ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) thanks for reading i love these kids ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dinner time ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfgdfhjlnklj i’ll fix typos later this monstrosity of nothingness chapter is finally DONE i couldn’t have done it w/o [@kiiro](https://twitter.com/pike_klaisic/) who supplied some of the cute shanglin dialogue here and [@illu](https://twitter.com/illumiell/) who encouraged me to write more even tho lol what is writing what is development _(:3 」∠)_ anyway follow these guiz bc they make the best tbf art ( ´ ▽ ` ) thank u both for being supportive tbf friendos sob ૧(ꂹີ࿄ꂹີૂ)

The pool of blood around him kept widening.

No matter how much Shang clutched at his stomach, he couldn’t stymie the flow. Pain—or weakness—forced him to his knees, and from there, he could only see the grass, the mud, and his own life force draining out of him in rivulets. His entire body numbed, but like the final flickers of a dying flame, the rest of his senses remained sharp. He thought he heard someone calling his name.

When there was sudden movement at his side, he didn’t even have the energy to lift his head. At least, not until he registered who it was.

_Shang—_

A familiar, grating voice. He clenched his teeth and felt anger rise within him like water brought to a boil. He recognized those blue-trimmed robes on the far edge of his vision, those silver-laced shoes.

When he finally raised his head to speak, he realized he couldn’t for the blood filling his mouth and painting his front dark red. He tried regardless, intent on cursing that figure to hell if he couldn’t drag him there with him, but the words died in his throat as soon as he saw _that_ expression.

An expression he didn’t think Lin Xue Ya was capable of making.

Much less at him.

 _Bu_ _Huan—!_

Shang woke in stepwise fashion, vision returning to him first. It was dark, and for a moment, he completely forgot where he was and what he was doing. His right hand fell into his lap and hovered over his stomach. The disorientation lingered, followed closely by inexplicable agitation, but the stupor vanished as he blinked and the interior of his car slowly materialized before him. Right, he'd arrived too early and decided to park at the curb for a nap. Except he'd made the mistake of not setting an alarm, so—?

He scrambled for his phone, patting down his clothes and seat, as he tried to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of coherence through the sluggish movements. He was still reeling from the dream and a pervasive sense of disconnection from his surroundings. After a good minute or two, he finally found the device facedown beside the brake, screen luminescent with notifications.

Rubbing a finger across his bleary eyes, Shang squinted down at the time.

“6:42,” he murmured to himself, sighing in relief that he hadn't overslept. The relief lasted for only a second as his eyes caught the text directly below, and the corners of his lips immediately turned downward.        

> **0935-XXXXXX  
>  ** Don’t forget our date ~

What happened to playing the third wheel? And when and how had he gotten his number?!

Shoving the questions aside—it was always a game of questions without answers with Lin—Shang chucked his phone into the passenger seat and started the engine. He'd left work early for fear of getting lost, but of course a peacock like Lin had scheduled dinner at such an ostentatious location that it was impossible to miss. The 5 star hotel dwarfed its surroundings, and the restaurant sat at its very top.

Shang had briefly considered not showing up. He didn't care for indulging Lin despite his boss's insistence that they couldn't afford not to. Lin's reputation for being "fickle on set" preceded him, but more than that, Shang was concerned about him and Lang working together. He got the feeling he'd have to mediate their interactions again, much as he'd disliked doing so in the past. But it seemed some things never changed, and between Lang’s continued temper and Lin’s persistent wiles, it was like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. If Lang had remembered him, he wouldn't have known how to handle his fury. He didn’t even know why he himself wasn’t as mad as he should have been. Nothing good ever came out of associating with Lin. 

Snatches of his dream struggled to the surface, but he tamped them down.

As soon as he pulled up, valet took his car, and he made a beeline for the lobby. Shang checked his phone again and caught a text message from Lang declaring he'd already arrived. He was eager to explain the situation. He'd been so busy running around meeting people and relaying plans back to his office that he'd completely forgotten to mention they wouldn't be dining alone.

His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that his only meal had been brunch with Lin, as he stepped into the glass elevator and punched the button for the 56th floor. He avoided watching the ground fall away from him by shoving his hands into his pockets and frowning at the ceiling. If he didn't know better—and he wasn't sure he did—he'd have said Lin picked a high-rise just to mess with him. Luckily, the ride was short, and as soon as the lift grounded to a halt, Shang threw himself out. 

He knew the venue would be over-the-top, but the elaborate atrium surprised him anyway. The dark night sky hung overhead, and the entire area was softly backlit with artistic statues running down the center leading to a reception desk. The woman behind it immediately turned to regard him. Before Shang could even say anything, she asked, "Mr. Shang?"

Shang started then raised a finger to scratch at his chin as he sidled up to the podium. "Uh, yeah."

A people-pleasing smile crossed her expression, and she gestured to a hallway behind her. "Your private room is ready. One of your party's already arrived." 

 _One_. Good. He checked the time again and noted it was a minute past the hour. Of course Lin would pester him not to forget only to arrive late himself. But it was just as well; he wanted time alone to talk with Lang.

Passing a few doors, Shang caught bits and pieces of murmured conversation or raucous laughter coming from behind them before his guide stopped at one near the end of the corridor. She respectfully inclined her head prior to opening it. "Your room."

It was less of a room than it was a display. Three of four walls were thick glass panes looking out over the city. A dim chandelier hung over a circular table that was much larger than it needed to be for three people, and within the center stood a vase of roses with miniature candles spaced around it. Slumped over in one of the ornate chairs was Lang. He had his oversized headphones pulled across his ears and his arms folded beneath him cushioning his head. Shang sighed good-naturedly at the sight and shrugged out of his jacket.

"We'll begin bringing out the dishes shortly." 

Shang pivoted back toward the woman after taking a few steps inside. "We haven't ordered."

"The reserve holder ordered ahead. Your waiter will bring your drinks and a menu should you want to add anything." She backed out of the room, hand on the knob. "Please enjoy."

“Thanks,” he returned just as the door clicked shut and left them alone.

Shang sighed again and swept his eyes across the room a second time before landing back on Lang’s still form. He must have been tired. Shang didn’t really have the heart to wake him. 

He hung his jacket on a peg by the entrance and was in the process of loosening his tie and sliding into the seat to Lang’s right when the musician suddenly stirred. He shifted in his seat then turned his head to the right and opened his eyes.

”Shang...” he greeted, voice still groggy and thick with sleep. It looked like they had the same idea of napping before dinner. Shang refrained from chuckling at the stray strands of hair sticking out from his braids, and as if sensing it anyway, Lang used one hand to sweep them over his other shoulder. His right pulled the headphones off his ears as he yawned, "You're on time. For once."

"Hey!" Shang dropped into his seat the rest of the way and used the momentum to shove Lang slightly off his. "I called off the gym for this, you know."

Lang snorted. "Could do with losing some muscle weight." He rubbed the shoulder Shang had collided into with exaggerated offense, and Shang nearly rolled his eyes.

"When you're getting up there in age and all you do is desk work and social drinking, you put on the pounds a lot faster. But I wouldn't expect you to understand, Mr. Guitar Hero."

He didn't hide the teasing nature of the gibe and saw Lang's lips quirk up faintly in response. It was good to see the younger relax. The only time he really seemed to was when they were alone. Shang glanced around the private room again and thought this wasn't so bad. But when their third arrived...

Shang threw his tie over the empty seat beside him and undid the first button of his stifling dress shirt before clearing his throat. "Hey, listen, Lang—" He hesitated. "Someone else is gonna be joining us."

He dragged his eyes away from the skyline view and noticed Lang's expression hadn't changed. It remained impassive, which was to be expected from a man who so rarely wore his heart on his sleeve. But his voice dropped slightly, eyes going from Shang's to the garish display of roses in the center. "I thought it was weird for you to pick this place," he started, slinging his right arm over the back of his seat as his left leaned into the edge of the table. "Who?"

The door burst open as if on cue. Speak of the devil, and he was sure to appear. Shang had half a mind to question whether Lin hadn't been hiding in the hallway and eavesdropping this entire time.

"Were you waiting long for me?"

Lin entered with a flourish and a presence that demanded attention. Shang was loath to give it to him, but he found himself doing so anyway. As expected, Lin had changed into a completely different outfit for the evening, a grey three-piece and polished shoes that looked far more expensive than anything Shang had ever owned. He discarded the jacket as soon as he stepped into the warm interior, but even in just the dress shirt, waistcoat, and necktie, Lin looked out of place. Or rather, he made _them_ look out of place. This was a lot more formality than Shang had been expecting, leaving Lang the oddest man out with his simple sweater and slacks.

Shang’s gaze lingered for an extra second or two, the thought inadvertently crossing his mind that Lin could look good in anything and a model’s profession suited him. 

When Lin caught his stare (again), chagrin made Shang rapidly bite out, " _Yes_ ," in response to the question. He wouldn’t give Lin the chance to comment or, God forbid, read his thoughts. “I should've expected you to keep us waiting after making us jump through hoops."

Lin smiled after folding his jacket across an empty chair. "Sometimes fine dining requires a little effort. I wanted to make a good first impression, after all. I'm glad you were both able to find the place."

That wasn’t the issue, the issue being this was out-of-the-way, time-consuming, and Lin had joined them uninvited. Shang bit his tongue to keep from saying as much and turned his head to regard Lang, slightly anxious for his reaction. But there was none, just a vacant, unamused stare waiting for explanation.

"He's—"

"I remember."

The hair on the back of Shang's neck immediately stood up. In his peripheral vision, he caught Lin, who'd been lingering across from them and languidly taking in the scenery, shift his attention to the redhead. _Shit_ , not good. Before he could add to his statement, Lang cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Your friend from Japan?"

Lin grinned, seeming far too self-satisfied as he trailed his way to Shang's side with an index finger tracing the circumference of the table. "Indeed." 

"Not friend," Shang cut in after regaining his bearings. "Business associate."

"Oh?" Lin faked surprise and settled into the seat directly beside him, leaving him uncomfortably sandwiched between the two of them. "I’m hurt. But I suppose Shang has his reasons for keeping our relationship hush-hush."

If looks could kill... Shang shot him such a scathing glare that anyone with a smidgen of shame would have quailed under it, but of course not Lin. Lin leaned closer, whatever perfume he was wearing assaulting Shang's senses with a strong, earthy mix of spices and—tobacco smoke? Shang coughed and in turn leaned closer to Lang. 

"Don't listen to him." He waved away the insinuation, passing Lang a glance and noting that the man's eyebrows had slightly drawn together. "He's an eccentric," he explained curtly and changed the topic.

Jerking a thumb at Lin, he introduced, "Lin Xue Ya. Actor. Model too, I guess."

"Hm." Lang regarded Lin coolly, schooling his expression into indifference once more. He was on edge, though; tension radiated off of him. It was enough that Shang questioned whether he really didn't remember, but then again, Lin's personality _did_ have this effect on people. "Never heard of him."

The bluntness of the reply caught him off guard.

"Well," Lin interjected. "I suppose most of my work _has_ been international." He grinned, unfurling the carefully folded cloth napkin on his plate. "I've heard of you, however. Rising musician, meteoric popularity." He paused after laying the fabric across his lap, and when he looked up there was a glint in his eye that set off alarms in Shang's head. "I very much look forward to working with you, Lang Wu Yao."

Lang froze. "Excuse me?"

Shang raised a hand to silence Lin and, much to his surprise, the other complied. At the same time, the door to their room opened, and a waiter with a cart of assorted alcohol—wine, beer, liquor, sake—entered. Seeing Shang and Lang conversing and paying him no mind, he did Shang the favor of engaging and distracting Lin. 

"Why didn't you say anything about the TV drama?" Shang followed Lin's lead and grabbed the napkin off his plate. 

Lang looked startled and then wary, minute facial changes belying his stoicism. "Ling Ya did it on his own." He paused. "He told me recently." 

Shang sighed. That was what he figured. Before Shang could inquire further, Lang's gaze had settled on Lin again, who was in the midst of comparing aged wine. "You don't mean—?"

"Yeah." _Unfortunately_. "He's your co-star. And Xi You's newest contract. I got assigned to the production to help him settle in."

Lang quieted, lips pursing into a thin, straight line. 

"And it was quite the fortuitous happenstance," Lin interrupted, pouring dark red wine into three glasses that the waiter left. He pushed the first toward Shang. "I'm a big fan of yours."

Lang scoffed. "Are you? Or do you just like listening to yourself talk?" 

Shang nearly choked on his wine and just barely stifled a laugh with a cough. Lin did have a habit of domineering conversations; he just hadn't expected Lang to get fed up with it so quickly. Or to call him out on it. For all of Shang's misgivings about the two of them being in the same room, he couldn't fully hide his amusement at seeing Lang so thoroughly rebuff Lin's olive branch, if it could be called that. It was more like Lin primping and preening his feathers and maybe trying to ingratiate himself in the process. Though he managed to keep a neutral expression, he got the feeling both parties had picked up on his thoughts anyway. He saw Lang's lips curl lightly at the same time that the unflappable ease Lin always exuded stuttered for once.

"That as well, certainly," Lin finally returned after the pause. "I suppose that's just the occasional difference between us actors and musicians." 

Lang said nothing to that but rejected the wine that'd been placed in front of him and pushed it back. "I don't drink."

Shang didn't react to the lie and threw back the rest of his own wine instead. It was strong, but he was no lightweight, and the alcohol passed through him easily. He probably needed to be a little drunk if he was going to make it through dinner. At that thought, Lang suddenly stood, and the door opened again as more waiters passed into the room laden with plates of food. 

"I actually need to leave, Shang."

“Huh?” Shang stood with him, frowning. “Dinner just started.”

”Ling Ya wants to meet. He says it can’t wait.” Lang had his phone in hand as he stepped around the waitress setting down a platter of duck. He barely flicked his eyes upward in parting at Lin as he added, "I'm sure there'll be other chances for us to know one another."

The explanation didn’t sit right with him. Shang squeezed past the staff and carts and caught Lang’s arm before he could maneuver it into his jacket.

"Lang.” Shang raised an eyebrow. “You alright?"

"I'm fine." But Shang didn’t miss the evasive way Lang’s eyes found the floor then shot back up to him in an almost defiant glare. "Are you sure you can handle someone like him?"

"Me?” He was a bit taken aback by the unprompted question and the way it was asked. He snorted. “Hey, man, you're the one who's gonna be working with him."

“Hm.”

They stepped to the side of the door they were blocking as the waiters filed out, leaving a spread of entrées in their wake that covered the entire table. Shang had forgotten his hunger in the midst of conversation (and impending headache), but now it returned tenfold.

”Such a shame you won’t be able to join us, Sir Lang,” Lin remarked airily as he picked up his chopsticks.

Lang finished pulling on his jacket without taking the verbal bait and, without another word, moved into the hallway.

“Lang!” Shang called again, following him, and this time managed to stop him with just his voice. He suppressed a sigh, feeling as though Lin had planned for this even though Ling Ya’s intervention couldn’t have been planned. 

He held his head for a moment and gave up pursuing Lang’s mood for another issue on his mind.

“I wanted to ask before I forget—since I have to be in Taipei for this, would you mind letting me crash at your place til it’s over? Commuting's a pain, but if that’s too much trouble—"

"Of course not." Lang cut him off. His shoulders sagged slightly as he paused in his haste to give Shang a look as if to say, 'Did you think I'd say no?' Shang rarely saw genuine upset or frustration in the other, but there were traces of those emotions now as Lang briskly fished keys from his pocket, grabbed Shang's wrist somewhat forcefully, and placed them in the palm of his hand.

Shang paused, surprise flickering across his expression. He hadn't expected to be given keys outright. He turned them over before asking, "You don't need this?”

”Ling Ya has a spare.”

"Oh." He let out a small breath through his nose. “Then thanks, man, I appreciate it.” 

“Will you be coming over tonight?” Lang's eyes flicked toward the room with its door ajar and Lin barely visible through the crack, but the buzzing of his phone drew his attention away again. His brow furrowed briefly when he saw the caller. Shang caught ‘Ling Ya' on the screen just before Lang pivoted away, but he didn't take the call immediately. He paused as if unsure or waiting for an answer to his question. 

”No, I’ll be back at my place for another week or two. I’ll let you know.” 

“Hm.” Lang glanced over his shoulder with a mien like he had something more to say. His lips parted, but before they could form any words, his phone that had gone silent started buzzing anew again. This time he turned around fully and walked into the hallway, waving a hand back in departure. "Talk later," he parted as he took the call and Ling Ya’s chattering instantly burst over the line loud enough for Shang to hear.

“Yeah, see ya." Shang watched Lang go for a few seconds then hung his head and sighed. He supposed he needed to go back in for his empty stomach if nothing else.

Lin hadn't seemed to have eaten much. Most of the dishes sported evidence of only a few nibbles if any. As soon as Shang shut the door, Lin propped an elbow against the table and cupped his chin in his hand, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. 

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Ask you what?" Shang grumbled before the realization stuck, and he immediately leveled Lin an annoyed glare, pausing in pulling out his seat. Lin continued staring up at him innocuously, but he couldn't completely eschew the sly intonation, at least not with him. "You were eavesdropping, huh?"

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, scooting slightly closer as soon as Shang settled down. “Eavesdropping is such an unseemly term. I much prefer... information gathering.”

Shang scoffed, too hungry at this point to argue or pay much attention to anything else, and didn't notice the decrease in distance.

"I would have been happy to accommodate,” Lin continued. “I have a house and two apartments in the area, you know."

"I'd rather commute."

Lin grinned at the snappy retort, silent for once as he watched Shang pour himself another glassful of wine and pick up his chopsticks. Lin casually rotated the turntable such that the meat dishes stopped in front of him then nodded his head in a coy, wordless gesture to _go ahead_. Shang couldn't help sparing him one more dubious glance before his reservations gave out under the weight of hunger and exhaustion, and he finally started eating.

The time seemed to fly by once he did. Lin ate sparingly, which annoyed him more than anything. Less because he really _cared_ , more because it made the amount he was inhaling seem far more ridiculous by comparison. As expected, the food was _good_ , but like hell he'd admit it to Lin's smug expression watching him a bit too closely and carefully. The wine kept disappearing from his glass and then reappearing without him making the effort to refill. And, in the moment, he hadn't questioned the cup after cup he was imbibing to wash down the plate after plate of food. It wasn't until much later into the evening that Shang noticed anything was amiss.

He didn't know what they'd been talking about, or whether they'd even been talking at all, but after the waiters had nearly finished clearing the table, he said, "Didn't think you'd get your feathers so ruffled by ‘im."

The words contained a badly concealed chuckle. He was starting to feel the full effects of however much wine he'd drunk, mouth a little looser, words a little lighter. Shang held his temple in his right hand, eyes shut as he leaned heavily into the table and tried to pretend he still had some grasp on his inhibitions. 

He hadn't specified whom or what he'd been referring to, but Lin seemed to have understood implicitly all the same as he  _hmm_ 'd in response. He'd taken out his pipe at some point, and now tobacco smoke wafted around the room. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself at my expense this time."

If Shang didn't know better, he'd have said Lin actually sounded put-upon. 

"If you like teasing me so much, you can do it yourself.”

"Yeah?" Shang straightened, or tried to, and threw a very sloppy and inebriated smirk in Lin's direction. "Hell, if I'd known it was that easy, I would've."

Lin froze, the action barely perceptible, before relaxing again and shifting in his seat. He said nothing which Shang took as an invitation to continue. He probably would have regardless, feeling rather emboldened and carefree.

”You’ve got a bad habit of teasing others for your own amusement. But it’s not okay for others to do it to you?”

Lin breathed out lightly, smoke curling with his breath. “Of course you’d turn this into a teaching experience. Ever so proactive, Sir Shang.”

He tapped the bowl of his pipe against the table, and Shang was sure he heard irritation in his voice this time. He didn’t hold back his laughter upon peeking at Lin’s less-than-enthused expression, pout even. His chest constricted at the sight, inexplicably full and warm.

“It’s what you get for being so goddamn cheeky all the time,” he threw out at the tail end of a chuckle and made the mistake of standing—or attempting to. His entire world swayed at the action and nearly flipped upside down if he hadn’t caught himself on the table.

” _Shit._ ” He really had overdone it.

There was a warm weight at his side supporting him before he could wrap his head around what was happening. And even if he could, he wasn’t in any position to reject the assistance.

“Good grief,” Lin sighed, voice teasing but soft. “It seems someone’s overestimated himself.”

”Shut up,” Shang immediately growled, straggling forward as Lin began guiding them toward the door. “Whose fault is that?”

The trip to the car was a blur, but he remembered Lin’s perfume constantly tickling his nose and the occasional brush of long, white hair against his cheek. There was no way he was driving, and he didn’t even have the mind to think that far. He vaguely registered Lin on the phone and then a short wait before the hotel with that unfaltering warm weight beside him and the feeling of being gently watched.

Just as the car rolled up to the curb, he muttered, “Thanks.”

To which Lin replied, “You don’t have to thank me, Bu Huan,” in such a quiet voice that Shang would have missed if it hadn’t been said at the shell of his ear, sending a not unpleasant chill down his spine. 

But it also touched upon an earlier dream, a similar intonation of voice that Lin had used some other lifetime ago, and it had Shang retorting, “What the hell happened to you?”

It wasn’t a question he expected an answer to; he barely registered asking it after it left his mouth and Lin had helped him into the backseat. He scooted to the far side and leaned into the window then raised a hand very half-heartedly in Lin’s direction.

”Stay away from me. You smell like shit,” he slurred.

"It's Tom Ford."

”Could be liquid gold for all I care.”

Shang folded his arms across his chest, and as soon as the car started moving, he was flickering in and out of consciousness.

At some point, the cool glass against his face was replaced by something softer and warmer, and the odd scent of spices and tobacco assaulted his nostrils again. By that time, however, he’d already slipped into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nghhhhhh i completely forgot to link these but [@guavi](https://twitter.com/ZGuavi/) and [@illu](https://twitter.com/Illumiell/) are the best friendos who were inspired and made some ARTS [beginning scene from illu](https://twitter.com/Illumiell/status/1069570470536757249) \+ [beginning scene comic from guavi](https://twitter.com/ZGuavi/status/1083231235592212480) \+ [ending scene from guavi](https://twitter.com/ZGuavi/status/1070384283393581056) THANKS FRIENDOS ilu guys ૧(ꂹີ࿄ꂹີૂ) and im glad this fic could inspire u guys ૧(ꂹີ࿄ꂹີૂ)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hotel shenanigans ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ)

Shang knew better. He knew that he did, but where Lin was concerned, that didn’t seem to matter. Lin had a special way of drawing out his worst.

The hangover hit him like a train. He’d been expecting it, but it managed to mildly offend him anyway. Shang took it as a testament to Lin’s abilities rather than his own hubris. Maybe this wasn’t Lin’s fault directly, but indirectly? Without a doubt. Lin always worked in the indirect.

He barely recovered enough consciousness to bemoan his luck and the splitting headache when a persistent buzz caught his attention. For a long moment, he ignored it until it stopped and started anew. The faint sound drilled itself into his temple; all he wanted was for it to _stop_. But the instant he shifted on the bed, his head started to swim, and the nausea rolling in his gut redoubled its efforts. He didn’t know if he’d thrown up the night before, but from the disgusting taste in his mouth and the uncomfortable, empty churning in his stomach, he assumed he had.

He let the buzzing go to silence again. It took him a good while afterward to register the sound for a phone—his phone, probably. Somewhere in the room. His room? No, something felt off...

His hand shot out to grab the source of the vibrations as soon as they started again. They were coming from his left, but Shang was fairly sure his bedside table was on the right. His hand groped across the surface for a split second then curled around the first thing it met with a viselike grip. He’d meant to silence it, but habit had his thumb hovering over the accept button instead, and then it was too late to correct himself.

He took the call with his eyes half-shut.

“Shang?”

Lang’s voice cut through his foggy state. Shang squinted at the light coming from the screen and blearily made out the other’s name before bringing it to his ear.

His mouth was so dry that his tongue struggled to form words and curled thickly around the only syllable he managed. “Yeah.”

It came out sounding more choked and miserable than he intended.

A pause. No doubt Lang had guessed his state. Shang took the silence to raise himself onto his elbows—or try to. His body screamed in protest at every shift and turn. He’d completely forgotten what being hungover felt like, partly because it’d been so long and partly because he was normally a heavyweight. He must have really passed his limits this time.

Goddamn Lin...

“You alright? I’ve called three times. You sound...”

“Hungover?” Shang snorted and immediately winced as another pang of pain ricocheted through his head. “Yeah.”

He held his free hand across his eyes for a moment, shutting out the faint light streaming through the cracks in the curtain.

 _Sunlight_.

It was morning.

“Shit. What time is it?” he croaked. Not even the violent recollection that they’d gone out on a _weekday_ could fully rouse him from his stupor.

“Quarter past nine,” Lang answered briskly. His voice sounded a little... strained. Shang didn’t question it, honing in on the time instead.

“Ah, fuck,” he swore and flipped himself over with some effort to lean across the left edge of the bed.

“Sure you’re okay?” Lang didn’t sound convinced. Hell, neither was he. “Where are you?”

“I’m—” That was a good question. Where _was_ he? “Home.”

He definitely wasn’t home. He blinked in the darkness and made out the silhouette of a lavish bedroom that was far bigger and more elaborate than his own. Lin’s place? No, this wasn’t actually a bedroom; it was more of a—hotel room?

“Did Lin Xue Ya take you home?”

Lin. If he was in a hotel, then Lin was...? The realization dawned on him all at once. Horror—or terror—quickly followed.

He wasn’t wearing anything.  
He was piss drunk last night.  
He and Lin had ended up at a hotel. 

His hand shot out to the right before he could overthink as he prayed—

He didn’t get to finish the thought. His hand met air and the smooth expanse of unruffled silk sheets. No dip in the mattress. No lingering warmth. No evidence of Lin.

The relief was instantaneous. He released an audible sigh at the same time that his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“Shang?”

“Yeah,” Shang answered belatedly, clearing his throat. “He must’ve.” Absentmindedly, he swept his hand across the surface again as though he’d find Lin hiding in the springs or the duvet if he looked carefully enough. Pausing midway through the action, he snorted at himself and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m still—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Lang cut in. There was a sudden burst of background chatter on the other end; Shang thought he caught Ling Ya’s voice amidst the static. “You’re going to work?” Lang continued a moment later, unperturbed.

Shang rubbed the bridge of his nose. The idea of work made his temple throb. On any other day, he would’ve called in sick, but as luck would have it… “Have to. Meeting with the drama people.” When? 10? 10:30? 11? “In an hour,” he sighed.

He cautiously peeled back the sheets, wincing all the while. It turned out that he wasn’t _completely_ naked as he’d initially feared. He was still in his underwear. The next question was whether or not he’d undressed himself. He didn’t remember much of anything, but as uncomfortable as he felt about it, now wasn’t the time to probe.

“Need a ride?”

Shang waved aside the notion as though Lang could see him. “Nah, I’m good,” he amended and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. The room wobbled in his vision, but he counted it as a win when he stood and didn’t face-plant into the floor. “I’ll figure something out.”

He squinted around in the dark for his clothes and used the outline of the bed to guide himself. “You got that thing today, right?” he asked, trying to rack his brain for events beyond the hazy lethargy it was steeped in. The meeting was going to be rough. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Somehow standing made him exponentially more parched, but the room was larger than he expected. If there was a mini fridge, he didn’t see it. If his clothes were hung up somewhere, he didn’t see that either. A sudden rush of irritation overtook him at the fact that Lin had left him alone. Not that he’d expected anything less, and not having to deal with Lin first thing in the morning was a blessing anyway, but… he was irritated nonetheless.

Shang didn’t notice the long break in conversation until Lang spoke again. “Hm,” he murmured. “Alright.”

The verbal concession held some weight behind it, an edge that Shang wasn’t used to hearing. He paused for a moment in his searching, about to inquire whether _he_ was okay when Lang cut in again. “Do you have time today? I want to talk to you.” He hesitated. “Or tomorrow,” he added, “when you’re feeling better.”

Shang sighed. “I dunno, man,” he confessed and pivoted where he stood, half-resigned to giving up when his foot connected with something. Cocking his head aside, he bent down. “It’s gonna be pretty busy…” Shang trailed off. His fingers froze just as they snagged in the crumpled jacket, which was definitely his but suspiciously smelled like someone else.  
  
But that wasn’t what gave him pause. It was the absence of a certain sound he’d relegated to white noise and then the realization it’d been the rhythmic crash of a showerhead all along. 

Before he could gather his bearings, the door to the bathroom suddenly swung open. He wondered if he looked very offended when Lin emerged, steam wafting out after him, in nothing but a towel.

“Lang,” he hurriedly interrupted. “Sorry. I, uh, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and instantly felt bad about it, but Lin didn’t give him the chance to dwell.

“Oho, you’re awake,” he purred, eyes finding his and pinning him down with a very self-satisfied look.

Shang blinked and squinted against the flood of fluorescent light. Lin took a few steps out of it and used the towel resting across his shoulders to tousle his wet hair. It looked longer down and damp, framing his pale face and red eyes that glowed out at him in the half-light. Water from a few loose strands dripped off his torso and onto the floor. Shang found his gaze tracing the path despite himself. As expected, Lin was thin, but there was still the faint definition of muscles along his abdomen.

“How did you sleep?” Lin asked and re-tucked the corner of the towel against his waist.

Shang looked away, suddenly hyperaware that they were both half-naked. Clothes forgotten, he straightened, heaved himself onto the edge of the bed, and cleared his throat.

“How do you think?” he snapped and gave Lin a very ‘what the hell’ look.

Lin laughed at the response, the sound so light and airy compared to how dead and leaden he felt that he wished he could sew his mouth shut. Lin strode across the room unfazed. He took slow, languid steps to his bedside and then stopped very deliberately in front of him.

“Judging by your expression…” Lin hummed. “You didn’t think I left, did you?” He glanced at him. Shang thought he caught the hint of a smirk. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Shang.”

Shang refrained from meeting his gaze. “As if you haven’t in the past,” he muttered then waved a hand in front of his face in a restless gesture. “That’s not the point. Point is—why didn’t you take me home?”

“Hm? I don’t know where you live, of course.”

“You—” A sharp stab of pain through his head cut him short. “Fuck,” he groaned and immediately dropped his face into his palm.

He _highly_ doubted that statement. Lin was nothing if not persistent, and if the man already knew his number, his address probably wasn’t far off. He waited for the spasm to pass before commenting, but a gentle tug on his arm diverted his attention. Peeking through his fingers, he saw a bottle of water being offered at him.

“Here.” Lin nudged him again. This time, the act was accompanied with a faint rattle. He was holding a bottle of painkillers in the same grip.

Shang grimaced but set his phone aside to take the drink in his right hand and the pills in his left. He almost said ‘thanks’ by force of habit, but a feeling of déjà vu stopped the word at the cusp of his lips. Lin had said something about that earlier, hadn’t he? Last night?

He shook his head free of the distraction before it could take root and said nothing instead. Unscrewing the cap, he downed half of the water immediately then knocked a handful of pills into his palm.

Lin watched him closely with the kind of rapt attention he often saw Lang receive from his fans. But it wasn’t fawning admiration; there was something calculating in his gaze and something oddly wistful too. It was the same sensation Lin gave off back in Japan, and just like before, it threw him off. Shang did his best to ignore it, but when Lin dropped onto the bed beside him, just a hand’s breadth away, he nearly flinched in the opposite direction.

 _Too close._ Shang finished off the water and made to say as much but hesitated when Lin cupped his chin in his hand.

Instead of complaining about the lack of distance, he ended up barking, “What?”

Lin remained silent even as the glint in his eye intensified.

“Why the look?” Shang groused. “Yeah, I already know I look like shit.”

“I take it you don’t remember what you said last night?”

“What.” Shang pulled a face.

Lin didn’t seem inclined to repeat himself. He only widened his smile and fluttered his eyelashes.

“What?” Shang repeated. “What could I’ve said to you?” he sputtered, clearly doubtful of the claim. He had a few choice words for the thief now, and they were _not_ very kind. But that didn’t seem to be what Lin was referring to.

Shang was calling his bluff. Scoffing, he glanced aside and shook his head before standing. Another bout of nausea hit him, but he swallowed it down and managed to throw out, “I’m not playing your games. I gotta shower.”

With that, he retreated into the bathroom. Any precautions taken against Lin felt pointless in the grand scheme of things, but he still locked the door behind him.

He didn’t have time to waste, so he kept the shower short–ten minutes and two to dry off. When he finished, Lin was half-dressed and sitting before a vanity on the opposite wall beside a second bed that Shang had overlooked.

Pinching the towel around his waist, Shang stepped out and raised a hand to block the bright sunlight that greeted him. Lin had thrown open the windows and curtains at some point, but everything else was as Shang had left it. His clothes were still crumpled in a pile on the floor, hopelessly wrinkled compared to Lin’s outfit. His _new_ outfit, an entirely different one than what he’d been wearing before.

“Where the hell did you get a change of clothes?” Shang asked, indignant despite himself.

Lin’s eyes flicked to his reflected in the mirror then away again. “I always have a change of clothes. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared.” He was smug in his words if not in his tone. Shang bristled but, rather than take the bait, snorted and retreated back into privacy to change, leaving Lin to busy himself with his assortment of make-up and accessories.

Shang kneaded his fingers into the fabric in his hands and pulled a face. He’d thought his clothes smelled like Lin, but up close, the woody, smoky aroma was obvious. Sticking to his freshly washed skin, the heady scent made his hangover that much worse, and on top of it all, he couldn’t find his tie.

Shang exited the bathroom with a sharp rebuke on his lips. “Oi, Lin–”

But Lin was waiting for him with one of this own. “You don’t really intend on going into work looking like _that_ , do you?”

Shang paused midway through buttoning his shirt and shot the man a glare. Lin had moved from vanity to floor mirror, apparently admiring his outfit. The thin, white overcoat sitting on his shoulders shifted as he did. He did several half-twirls before turning to regard Shang fully, and as soon as he did, Shang did a double take. His mouth opened and shut, his comment on the _very_ low v-neck of Lin’s shirt dying in his throat. He dragged his gaze away to continue buttoning his own instead, defaulting to silence.

Lin laughed. “We can’t have you getting fired or taken off the project before we even start, can we?”

Shang huffed quietly. “Sounds like a pretty good idea.”

He didn’t notice Lin walking toward him until that strong cologne tickled his nose again and reminded him of the complaints–his tie, his clothes–that he’d forgotten amidst Lin’s distractions. It was one after another. The next came in the form of Lin’s hands reaching toward his face. Shang startled and took half a step back.

“Oi. What the hell are you doing?”

Lin relaxed his fingers and revealed their contents. “Eye cream. Concealer. Among other things. Like I said, we can’t have you getting fired before we even start, can we?”

“I don’t need ‘em.” That wasn’t exactly true. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his skin sallow, but Shang stubbornly turned aside regardless. “Maybe I want to get fired.” 

“Please. If that was the case, you would have quit already.” Without waiting any longer for permission, Lin grabbed Shang’s wrist and jerked him in the direction of the bed.  
  
The unexpectedness of the action had Shang stumbling along until he hit the edge of the mattress and his knees buckled. His head spun but not enough that he couldn’t catch Lin’s wrist again, harder this time. Ire bubbled back up his throat, sharp like acid, and he would’ve spat it out in something acerbic if Lin didn’t interrupt him.

“You don’t trust me anymore.”

Shang blinked, bewilderment etched in the thin line of his mouth.

“Why?”

Lin asked it with a straight face that eventually morphed into a smile the longer that Shang hesitated. The gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes; there wasn’t any mockery in it either.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shang finally scoffed. “Because you’re you. If I trusted you before, it was because I didn’t have any other choice.”

Lin’s expression twitched ever so slightly as if his answer had disappointed him. But not deterred him.

“And you do now?” Lin shifted closer despite the ironclad grip he still had on his wrist.

“Well,” Shang grumbled. “This isn’t exactly life and death.”

“Then? Why are you being difficult?”

Shang’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Lin could run logic circles around the best of them, but he already knew that. His eyes flicked to the clock, and he cursed to himself. He was just wasting time trading barbs. Sighing, he let Lin’s wrist go, and Lin immediately popped off the cap to the eye cream and gestured for him to come closer. Shang reluctantly obliged.

They spent the next fifteen minutes with Lin instructing him on where to put what or occasionally dabbing it on for him. He held up a mirror to his face at the end of it, proud of his handiwork or being facetious, Shang didn’t know. He merely waved it aside and stood.

“I’m going ahead.”

He exited the room without waiting for Lin’s reply and released a breath as soon as there was a physical barrier between them.

Maybe he was being difficult simply because he didn’t like Lin being so close to him. It sparked his nerves like live wires. Shang’s stomach rolled uncomfortably, and he wasn’t so sure it was the hangover this time. Shaking his head free of the thought, he refocused on his surroundings and his still hazy memory.

He didn’t need every detail to know this wasn’t the same hotel they’d dined at, which meant his car probably hadn’t come with him. He sighed at the idea of relying on Lin for transport, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shang wandered down the hallway to the front desk. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it to navigate the crowd of people and luggage in the lobby. It wasn’t until he broke outside that he fished the device from its pocket and started going through the multitude of missed calls and texts. Some were from Lang, some from his boss.

The task so quickly absorbed him that he completely missed the sound of camera shutters getting closer and louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im crying bc this literally took me SO LONG to write and edit 🤣 let it be known that im a FLAKE when it comes to writing multi-chapter stories and once im past the first handful of chapters writing gets exponentially more difficult LOL so be warned 💦💦💦 
> 
> but anyway i intended to push this chapter out as a bday present to [@illu](https://twitter.com/illumiell/) but like a bum IM LATE orz still, HAPPY BDAY ILLU UR THE BEST and HAPPY EARLY BDAY TO [@guavi](https://twitter.com/ZGuavi) ALSO both of u guys are so inspirational 💖💖💖 I LOVE YOU GUYS and ofc i need to give a shout-out to [@kiiro](https://twitter.com/pike_klaisic/) and [@tiger](https://twitter.com/_tigerine) too bc if it weren't for all of y'all i'd have abandoned this fic already LOL 
> 
> pls check these guys out their fics and arts and cosplays are the best, plenty of tbf material and inspo ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and thanks to everyone who's still reading and who's commented u all help give me the life blood to keep going _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lin pays shang a surprise visit in the middle of the night

For a moment, Shang couldn’t figure out what had woken him. It couldn’t be the door. At this hour? He huffed and closed his eyes. The knock came again, this time louder—or it simply felt that way because he’d already been roused.  
  
Then again.  
  
And again.  
  
Each knock was spaced out just long enough for him to think it could be ignored before it sounded again. On the fifth, Shang threw off the covers and staggered out of his room into the hallway.  
  
Even in his foggy state, he had a few guesses as to who it was. Just not _why_ .  
  
Blinking back the corridor’s harsh, fluorescent lights, Shang made out the all-too-familiar figure framed in his entryway.  
  
“What—“ Shang cleared his throat when his voice came out groggy and sleep-addled. “What‘re you doing?”  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn’t on the doorknob. “Do you know what time it is? How‘d you get past the—“  
  
“Good evening to you as well, Sir Shang.” Lin smiled, and Shang’s discomfort at being woken at this godforsaken hour for unknown reasons eased. He quickly looked him up and down. If nothing else, Lin seemed fine.  
  
Lin had a pleasant, unhurried expression as he used his pipe to gesture past Shang’s shoulder. Unlit, it was just another accessory, a pointer. Shang had half a mind to smack it out of his hand.  
  
“May I?” he asked and stepped forward.  
  
Shang immediately blocked him with his arm. “May you _what_ ?”  
  
Lin stepped back again. “I need a place to sleep for the night,” he answered simply, right hand coming up to stroke his ponytail.

“You _what_ ?” It was too late (or too early) for this. Shang sighed and wiped a hand down his face in exhaustion. “Why didn’t you go to a hotel?”  
  
The question he chose to ask seemed to amuse Lin as his lips quirked up further and he cocked his head to the side. “Is Sir Shang going to turn me away?”  
  
Shang gave him a look. The urge to do so was strong. He seriously considered it for a moment.  
  
“You came because you knew I wouldn’t.” It came out like an accusation because it was. He didn’t know what gambit Lin was playing, but he was too tired to question it.  
  
His arm dropped, and he shuffled back into the condo without waiting for Lin to follow. Hardly half a second later, the door clicked shut and locked behind him. Lin’s shoes squeaked across the laminate flooring.  
  
“I don’t wanna hear it,” he warned over his shoulder.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
The condo was small; just a few steps took them into the space he called a living room which connected to the cramped kitchenette. Shang’s hand found the lamp’s pull chain by memory. He tugged, and the soft reciprocal glow answered Lin’s curious croon better than he ever could.  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Shut it.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“I know it’s a mess. Wasn’t expecting visitors,” Shang groused.  
  
Takeout containers, scraps, and plastics were scattered here and there; the blanket had fallen off his singular couch, and the floor was in desperate need of a vacuum. The condo wasn’t the only messy thing. His hair was probably sticking out at odd angles; his clothes were rumpled too. But he didn’t care to put on airs for Lin. He didn’t care in general, but especially not for him.

He straggled to the cabinet in the hallway leading to his bedroom where the lamplight just barely reached. Shang still felt as though he were half-dreaming, but Lin’s presence hovering behind him was too firm and real.  
  
“You can take the bed,” he muttered and opened the door in the same breath. He stared at what bedding he had: floral sheets he bought on sale that suited him just fine but probably wasn’t of the material or thread count Lin preferred.  
  
“Oho, how very gallant of you, Sir Shang.”  
  
Shang continued staring into the cabinet. “I’m not gonna have you tell people I made you sleep on the couch. But you’re gonna have to make do with this.”  
  
Shang grabbed the bedsheet, pillow case, and last clean blanket and straightened to hand them off. Lin made no motion to take them, left hand stubbornly holding onto his pipe while his right remained limp at his side. Shang met Lin’s placid gaze with a frown.

“Here.” He pushed the fabric forward with emphasis.  
  
“I don’t need it.” Lin tapped the bedsheet on top with the bowl of his pipe.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ve already given me the bed. I wouldn’t be a very courteous guest to make you change the sheets as well. At this hour?”  
  
Shang grimaced. Something about Lin’s tone rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe it was the faint curl of his lips and complete lack of remorse.  
  
Or maybe the _smell_ radiating off him, something sharper than just perfume. More pungent. Shang had picked up on it at the door, but at this distance in his cramped hallway… He was sure of it. Lin may have had a talent for sobriety, or the illusion of it, but even he couldn’t hide the smell of alcohol.  
  
Shang stepped forward, closing the already minute distance between them until Lin came within hand’s reach. He took a deep breath and let the scent of flowers, smoke, and booze fill his nostrils.

The silence dragged. Shang wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—certainly not the why’s, how’s, and who’s of Lin’s drinking—when Lin shifted and jarred him out of his half-formed thoughts.

“Shang?” The other tilted his head, allowing their eyes to meet again.  
  
Shang could never read Lin as well as Lin could read him, but he thought he detected something less-than-confident in his scrutiny for once. Deflating, Shang shook his head and stepped away. He shut the cabinet with his foot and set the sheets atop the same end table as the lamp.  
  
“Fine. Do whatever. I’m putting these here. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” He paused once the pile left his hands, debating whether he should say more. His head told him to leave it, but...  
  
“You should drink some water.” He pivoted toward the kitchen without looking back. “You better not be hungover tomorrow.”  
  
Lin didn’t follow or say anything until Shang grabbed a glass off the drying rack and started filling it with filtered tap water.  
  
“I don’t get hungover.”  
  
Shang snorted.  
  
Lin crossed his arms and leaned into the frame of the open entryway rather than squeeze in after him. His pipe bobbed in his hand, ostentatious jewel occasionally catching moonlight and reflecting it across the ceiling. The muted, ethereal glow only made everything feel that much more surreal as Shang bumbled around in the semi-darkness. He shook off the discomfort and reached forward to push the drink into Lin’s hand before stepping back again.  
  
“Thank you.”

Lin took a few sips then paused with the rim at his lips. Ruby hues swept from oven to window to Shang leaning against the sink, arms crossed and gaze hard.  
  
“You’re not going to ask?” Lin prompted, amusement etched into the soft hum.  
  
Shang rubbed his open hand against the side of his nose and huffed. It could’ve been laughter if he wasn’t so tired and haggard. “Ask what? You wouldn’t have come here without making a half-assed reason. Does it matter what it is?”  
  
Lin’s answer was another sip. Shang didn’t know which was worse: Lin’s unexplained silences or his overexplained orations.  
  
“Thought you had five houses,” he acquiesced.  
  
“One house and two apartments. Weren’t you listening, Sir Shang? I had to sell two of them.”  
  
Shang fixed Lin with a look of disbelief, though he had an inkling of where this was going. “Yeah. And?”  
  
“And... The last one, well.” Lin exhaled quietly through his nose and walked into the kitchenette. He set the glass on the tiled counter, still half full. “I take it you remember Wu Sheng?”  
  
“Hard to forget.” Shang scoffed. “You were with him that time.”  
  
Lin didn’t react to the statement, not that Shang had expected him to. It was mostly for himself, something to anchor him to the present and those two’s relationship in it. That party, Lin’s behavior, Wu Sheng’s bizarre observations. He’d pushed it all out of his mind until now.

“You screwed him over again, didn’t you? So, he’s back to chasing you. And you’re still dodging him.”  
  
Shang left no room for Lin to deny.  
  
“Precisely.” Lin smiled. The action seemed more perfunctory than anything else. He fingered the carvings on his pipe and tapped the bowl against his chest. “I see no more reason to entertain his desires this time than I did last.”  
  
“Guy was an assassin before. Made a sport of killing. I didn’t agree with your methods, still don’t, but you had your own twisted logic to it. How about now?” Shang pushed off the sink and stepped to Lin, who hadn’t looked away since the topic of Wu Sheng came into the conversation. “You telling me he’s still an assassin? What’s the point in this?”  
  
As soon as the question left his mouth, Shang realized Wu Sheng’s situation could be applied more broadly. It wasn’t so different from his own, was it? They had Lin in common.

Sighing, he raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose again. “Look, Lin. Wu Sheng, Dan Fei, Can Yun, Lang... Aren’t we just repeating the beats of the past? Which didn’t end well, did it?”  
  
Flashes of tear tracks on pale skin flickered across his mind. He glanced away and back to see that Lin’s expression hadn’t changed. The position of his pipe hand had, however, and he raised it to make a whimsical gesture upward.  
  
“Your hair’s shorter.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“And you still have white strands at your age.” Lin chuckled. “Genetic, Sir Shang? Or overworking yourself again?”  
  
Shang waved Lin’s pipe aside. “It’s not as though I can control it either way.”  
  
Shang didn’t appreciate the topic change, but he’d expected it. When was Lin one to give straight answers? An inkling of frustration stirred in his gut. Relaxing his arms completely, he folded himself between Lin and the entryway. The small space forced them together for a moment that felt like an eternity before spitting Shang out onto the other side. He immediately reached for the lamp and gave the chain a jerk, returning the condo to darkness.  
  
“Go to sleep. You can pull this shit now, but I’m moving in with Lang next week.”  
  
“I know.”

Shang jerked around. That response felt more unaffected than anything else Lin had said.

His instinctive retort died in his throat at the image of Lin standing in his doorway still dressed in his outerwear. Lin drew a sharp contrast with Shang’s plain surroundings. He always had. His fame had followed him into the next life and changed forms. But notorious thief or model, he was just another person, though more annoying than most. And at four in the morning backlit by the moon through Shang’s cramped kitchenette, he didn’t appear any more larger-than-life than anyone else. He looked small. Vulnerable.

...Lonely. Shang backtracked on that thought. Lin? Lonely? He snorted but hesitated anyway, struggling between his annoyance and his—whatever. Whatever it was about Lin that always made him pause.  
  
“Pick whatever to sleep,” Shang concluded, holding his face in his hand. “Clothes are in the closet.”  
  
He dropped onto the couch without another word, grabbing the blanket off the floor in the process and draping it haphazardly around his lower half. The furniture was just big enough for most of him; only his feet hung off the armrest. Not the most comfortable, but better than the floor.

He turned onto his side and settled for staring at the polyester cushion rather than Lin’s silhouette. He was tired enough to knock out immediately, but he didn’t. He kept expecting Lin to continue pestering him, but he didn’t. The room fell quiet, interrupted by the ticking of an analog clock. He thought he could hear birds chirping too, which only highlighted the ridiculous hour. He should’ve been sleeping; he should’ve already fallen asleep.

Instead, he was hyper-attuned to Lin’s presence. It was a full minute before he moved from his spot, steps squeaking up until he entered Shang’s room and shut the door. He hadn’t taken the sheets after all.

The walls were thin, so he could hear Lin opening his closet, rummaging through his hangers, touching all his things, probably. Shang flipped onto his other side and regretted offering the bed. He imagined Lin splaying across the mattress and taking up every inch of space. By morning, everything would be tainted by his scent. He’d have to change the sheets if he didn’t wanna sleep in it.

But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep to Lin’s scent. At some point, the air conditioner turned on in the other room, low whir masking any other movements. He listened to it until the exhaustion finally overpowered everything else and chased a white-haired troublemaker out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY MONTHS LATER...
> 
> im sure a lot of you thought this story was dead BUT ACTUALLY!!!! it's become a part of a much bigger zine project :') check out my twitter ([@maidjyushi](https://twitter.com/maidjyushi)) for more information!! 
> 
> im not sure when i'll update this story again or what i'm going to do with it since it's become a passion project among many others BUT i hope you enjoyed this little update. im gonna continue working on modern AU slowly but surely after taking a nice, long break 😂 thank u all for investing in this story and loving the TBF kiddos ( ´ ▽ ` )

**Author's Note:**

> [look at](https://twitter.com/satoru_minamoto/status/1055408969059991553) [these](https://twitter.com/satoru_minamoto/status/1054330451282800640) [kids](https://twitter.com/satoru_minamoto/status/1053230956788600832) sorry this SUCKS my brain gave up before i even started but i also had like 300 words outlined already so YOLO ‾\\_(ツ)_/‾ this would be a fun start to a dumb romantic comedy multi-chapter fic but ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) im not the person to write that so ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) thanks 4 making it thru if u managed to get this far ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) i love these fashion fiction pics ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ) OH YEAH i was also inspired by [this image](https://twitter.com/NISINsambora/status/1055650032672620545) ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ)


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